by any other name
by Caliente
Summary: KIRK IS LOVE 'VERSE –– one-shot –– four times James Tiberius Kirk doled out nicknames, one time he couldn't and one time he didn't try –– featuring George Samuel Kirk & Winona Kirk, Leonard Horatio McCoy, Montgomery Scott, Janice Louise Rand, Nyota Uhura and S'chn T'gai Spock


**Author's Note:** Noticing Kirk's perchance for doling out nicknames, I began one of those "five times" stories—although, it ended up being a 4-1-1 instead of the usual 5-1. Anyway, the title is from a line in The Bard's famous play _Romeo and Juliet_ (which I definitely don't own). Also, they're all from Jim's perspective, excepting the first (because he's only a baby in it) but there's still a note of his own thoughts at the end. So, yeah. And it isn't beta'd I'm afraid, so if there are mistakes (grammatical, continuity-related or otherwise), don't hesitate to let me know! Okay then. Thanks for reading!  
**Disclaimer:** Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**by any other name**  
by, Caliente

_(or four times Jim Kirk doled out nicknames, one time he couldn't and one time he didn't try)_

* * *

**Sam makes one.  
**

When James T. Kirk was barely one year, he was already terrible precocious with a tendency to talk as much as possible. This was precious to everyone around him _except_ his older brother. Four-year-old George Samuel Kirk didn't mind all the attention the baby got (_most_ of the time, anyway), but he drew the line at stupid nicknames.

And this was the millionth (okay, maybe only twentieth) time George had tried correcting him. Jimmy was looking up at him with big blue eyes, holding out a block. "Jo' pway?"

He let out an aggravated nose. "George. My name is _George_."

"Jo'," Jimmy repeated obediently.

"George."

"Jo'."

This could've gone on for a long time (playing the 'repeat' game was one of Jimmy's favorites) but the older brother snapped. "George! George Samuel Kirk! That's my name! Not Joe!"

Winona stepped in then, placing a hand on her elder son's shoulder. "He can't say it yet, honey," she said in a soothing tone. "Try to be patient with him."

Pouting, George crossed his arms.

Jimmy tried offering the block again. "Sam pway?"

And George did—because he could live with his brother calling him that. At least it was part of his _actual_ name.

Later, when Jimmy could pronounce his entire name properly, he still insisted on calling his brother Sam. Neither ever admitted it explicitly but they both knew this had more to do with George being their father's name than anything else. Some things didn't need to be discussed.

…

**Bones makes two.  
**

It was Jim Kirk's first day at Starfleet Academy and he was running late. (This surprised exactly nobody who knew him—or even just knew _of_ him.) He rushed into the large lecture hall where their orientation was scheduled to begin in exactly one minute to find the majority of the seats already filled. All the cadets (himself included) were decked out in their new uniforms, most chattering excitedly in small groups as they waited for the day to begin.

It was the mean look on the man's face and the way he pointedly ignored everyone around him that Jim recognized, even in the sea of red that was their class. He hurried up the steps toward the empty seat beside him (he'd probably scared most of the kids off with his scowl) and tried valiantly to remember his shuttle buddy's name. (It would've probably worked better if he hadn't been recovering from both a hangover and ass kicking on the ride—and if they hadn't shared a flask of such strong bourbon.)

Jim gave it up as he swooped into the seat with a grin. "Hey, Bones!" he greeted, in lieu of his actual name. (He also surreptitiously pulled out a PADD and began scrolling for his identity.)

The man raised an eyebrow pointedly. (Jim clearly recalled that look from their shuttle ride, it seemed to be a favorite of his.) "Bones? I look like a damn skeleton to you, kid?"

Apparently his mood was as bad as his expression implied. (This amused Jim to no end.) "Nah," he admitted as he found what he was looking for. "But you don't look like a Leonard, either."

The eyebrow remained cocked and his expression dubious.

Jim shrugged. "What can I say? That story you told about your ex-wife made an impression." He smirked. "I've met a lot of terrifying women in my time but never one scary enough to send a man with an aversion to flying into space."

That got a sharp bark of laughter out of the old man. Bones it was then.

…

**Uhura isn't one.  
**

"LeAnn."

"No."

"Tara."

"No."

"Auriel."

"No." It was after a meeting of the xenolinguistics club and Jim was, once again, pestering Uhura about her name. Her cool stare told him she was distinctly unamused (not that he much cared). "Would you just give it up already?"

Jim smiled winningly. "I can't—you've bewitched me. It's not a matter of want anymore. I'll guess every name I can find if I have to!" (He may have been exaggerating slightly.)

There was something too satisfied in the way Uhura smirked. "Okay but who says I'm going to tell you if or when you actually do guess my name? Who says you haven't already guessed it and I simply denied it?"

This was something Jim had not considered. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" That wasn't part of the game he was playing.

She simply shrugged, expression never changing as she glided away.

Jim watched her go then shook his head. "Well damn." Not that he'd give up—he was never giving up! (Or, at least, not yet.) But he had a feeling she was going to be Uhura to him for a long time. Possibly forever.

Which, honestly, he could be okay with, even if she didn't give him the time of day or really seem to like him all that much. The chase was fun, the conversation witty and the view brilliant. Not everything he wanted, sure, but he could live with it.

…

**Scotty makes three.  
**

When Montgomery Scott and Jim Kirk finally had a chance to chat (outside of necessary ship-related correspondences) it was over a bottle of whisky. They were currently part of the skeleton crew remaining with the _Enterprise_ as she was being towed back to space dock. (The injured and nonessential personnel had already been escorted back to Earth via other ships.)

Jim watched the engineer knock back a healthy swig. "So, Scotty, eh?" he asked, wiping his mouth as he handed the bottle over.

The acting captain shrugged. "Well, you're Scottish and your last name's Scott—you couldn't be more 'Scotty' if you tried." He took his turn, ignoring the way the liquid burned down his throat. (The warm feeling left behind made it worth it, anyway.)

"That's terrible, cap'n—y'know that right?" Scotty laughed heartily. "Most terrible pun I ever did hear."

Jim laughed too, giving the bottle back. "But true."

Scotty chuckled, tipping the bottle toward him. "Aye. That it is."

…

**Randy makes four.  
**

Having a yeoman assigned to him was, in Jim's opinion, weird. _Really_ weird. He liked the part where she took care of a lot of the bureaucracy that made him want to stab things, but he didn't like how she nagged him constantly (his word, not hers—she liked to say they were "gentle reminders") about keeping up with his logs and answering department requests with politeness and diplomacy.

It was just after their first truly difficult mission that Jim decided the good outweighed the bad. He'd been working for twenty hours straight when Yeoman Rand brought him a cup of coffee (real, not replicated), a snack (healthier than he liked but still welcome) and a couple of mild painkillers (for the headache he'd been fighting for some time) completely unasked.

Jim stared at her dumbly for a moment before smiling tiredly. "I think I love you, Randy," he told her quite seriously.

The way she quirked her brow was strongly reminiscent of Bones. "Randy?" she repeated slowly as if testing out the name. The look on her face told him she didn't love it.

"Well, I can't call the woman I love by her last name or something impersonal like 'yeoman'," Jim pointed out. "And it wouldn't be proper for me to call you Janice while you're on duty."

Janice looked like she was trying not to laugh; his tired mind appreciated that. "Well, I would hate for you to be accused of impropriety." (The sarcasm less so.) "Still, I would prefer Rand or Yeoman Rand—you understand, sir."

Understood? Yes. Listened to? Not so much. "Sure thing, Randy." Lifting his coffee, he toasted her with a cheeky smile.

She rolled her eyes and left. (Unsurprisingly, this quickly became standard for the majority of their one-on-one interactions—nickname included.)

…

**Spock isn't one either.  
**

Beta shift found Jim and Spock in one of the lounge areas playing a game of three-dimensional chess. (Not a terribly uncommon occurrence because, despite vastly differing tactics, they were surprisingly evenly matched.)

It was Spock's turn and he was taking his time, so Jim struck up a conversation. "Spock, do Vulcans ever give each other nicknames?"

As was often his wont to do, Spock carefully raised his brows as he considered the question. "When a being already has a sufficient designation, it is illogical to offer others in its place," he said. "I am aware that it is a Terran custom to sometimes offer substitutions with common designations—such as Will for William or Jim for James—" Jim thought perhaps he was being mocked just a little bit there; "however Vulcans have no similar custom. When a designation is shared, clan names are used to distinguish various individuals."

Jim's lips twitched, but he reigned himself in. "So that's a no then."

The subtle shifts in Spock's expression brought it from considering to whatever the Vulcan equivalent of 'duh' was. "That is correct."

"And would you say you are adverse to the idea of being given a nickname?" Jim asked curiously. He was half-Human, after all.

His gaze was back on the game once more. "As I am the only Spock aboard the _Enterprise_, I fail to see the necessity."

Times like these, Jim wondered if he was being purposefully obtuse. (Not that he'd ever accuse him of such a thing. Aside from having no way of proving it, he didn't think Uhura needed another reason to glower at him.) "Not all nicknames are derived from necessity," he simply pointed out. "They can be a sign of friendship or camaraderie—like with Bones and Scotty."

Spock inclined his head. "I am aware of this."

There was more to it, Jim was almost certain. So he pushed: "But?"

"My mother was… fond of my name." _And, as such, he was attached to it_, was the unspoken meaning Jim heard, illogical though that may be.

Well then. (Awk-_ward_.) Moving right along…

Jim smiled a little, trying for comforting (unappreciated though it would probably be). "She had good taste."

Spock's brows rose again. "I fail to see what taste has to do with—"

"Spock," Jim cut in, "I just meant yours is a good name; it fits you. And before you ask," because knowing him, he would, "no, there is no logical reason that one name should be considered better or more fitting than another." He shrugged. "Just humor me my human follies."

His was what Jim considered the long-suffering look of a put upon Vulcan. (It was, of course, remarkably similar to all other Vulcan expressions but that was neither here nor there.) "As you wish, Captain."

Okay, so they weren't going to get anywhere else on the Vulcan nickname issue but that didn't mean Jim was conceding on all fronts. He was still determined to get his first officer to call him by his somewhat illogical but culturally customary designation. "Spock, I told you—it's Jim when we're off duty."

Raised brows again, this time with a very slight nod. "As you wish, Jim." That was as close to acquiescing a point as Spock ever came and Jim took the small victory.

Then they both returned their attention to the game at hand.


End file.
